


Two Bottles Of Whiskey For The Way

by bigbaldbae



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alexandria Safe-Zone, Anna Kendrick made me do it, Cause you're gonna miss me when I'm gone, Crack, Drunk flirting, Drunk in love, Humor, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I did say crack right, Intoxication, M/M, Rickyl Writers' Group, We be all night, philosophical talks, yeah right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbaldbae/pseuds/bigbaldbae
Summary: Rick Grimes and Daryl Dixon, drunk and having a philosophical conversation. Crackfic. :D





	

**Author's Note:**

> So let's say Alexandria has a bar. Let's just leave it at that LOL.
> 
> Be warned of OOC on the way - well, technically the boys are drunk so that is to be expected from them. :D 
> 
> You have also been warned of crack. Please don't hurt me after this. ;D
> 
> Title inspired from Anna Kendrick's song lyrics in "Cups."
> 
> *Changes made in this chapter may imply additional editing.

The moment Daryl stepped into the bar he was blessed with the peculiar sight of Rick Grimes holding a heated debate.  
  
With his cup.  
  
"Can you believe that the ancient Greeks believed in the belief that your bodily fluids determines what kind of person you are?" Rick slurred, rather loudly. Daryl notices the sheriff deputy can barely sit up straight, and his choice of words is rather lacking.

"For example,” the leader continues, now hiccupping. “If you have a lot of white blood cells, then you are a cold and watery person. If you're like _me_ , who has a lot of red blood cells, you're optimistic and outgoing."

_Hiccup._

"But _you_ are full of blue vodka. I don't really know what you are. If I were to guess you would be cold on the outside, but burning hot when I get a taste."

_Hiccup._

Rick pauses, squinting his eyes, then laughed at nothing for at least five minutes, and then made a throaty purr towards the cup in question. Daryl blinked rapidly at the sight before him.

 _Did he just fucking purr?_  
  
If the cup could just talk, the hunter thinks, it would've groaned at this pathetic attempt of a pickup line. Luckily for Rick, inanimate objects are just the ideal partners for someone who can't even pick up drunk girls, let alone pick up _anyone_ alive for that matter in the apocalypse of the walking dead.  
  
"But I don't believe in any of that nonsense just so you know. Something like bodily fluids severely limits the human spectrum. What if you're just full of piss? Would that make you a vile-less person but somehow still full of shit that nobody wants? I think it's absurd to categorize a person on something so elementary. A human is much more complicated than that."

Now that made Daryl let out a low whistle. _Wow. He’s kinda got a point here._

However, Daryl just shook his head, quickly burying that thought. It is one thing to laugh at a drunk Rick, but agreeing with him would be sabotaging his own manly pride. Then Rick chirps something else next.

"It's your humanity that makes you human!"

Daryl felt the corners of his mouth twitch. A few onlookers started snickering around him, and it did not help the situation at all.  
  
"Don't make fun of me, it's _true_!” the deputy argues, the last word coming up like a shrill shriek towards the innocent cup in his hand. “Just like that ugly chick sitting in that corner who keeps telling people about how her dress makes her fat. But we know it's really her fat that makes her fat. It makes sense that your humanity makes you human too. Are _you_ even listening to me? Well that's what you get for laughing _and_ ignoring me! One point for Sheriff Rick Grimes, none for you!"

Rick downs the rest of his drink in one gulp, and Daryl wonders how it is possible that Rick was able to tell that the glass is his drink, yet still talk to it like it's a person anyway. Promptly, the "ugly chick" sitting in the corner walks over to Rick and slaps him right across his face. Shame that Rick didn't even flinch. But now that he's stopped conversing with his "drinking partner," watching him ceased to be as amusing.

And that is when Daryl decided to join the conversation.

“ _Heeeeeey_ Dixon!” Rick drawls cheerfully as soon as he sees Daryl. “How pleasant of you to join in on us, we’re having a lovely discussion on the girls we picked up tonight.”

“Liar,” Daryl snorted under his breath, sitting on the stool beside Rick.  
  
“So what’s your type, huh Daryl? I think you go for the meek ones. Like that formerly spineless Betty Crocker with a lesbian haircut. You seem like a guy who would have a taste in meek, older women.”

Daryl pinched his nose bridge and squeezed his eyes shut, thanking God Carol wasn’t there.

Rick, though, clearly had not had enough yet. “Hey bartender! Two Russian Screwdrivers. One for me and one more for my good friend here.”  
  
If the bartender looked confused, it’s because he _has_ every right to be. Sitting on the stools less than two feet away from each other are the two most fearsome men in the Alexandria Safe Zone. The more sober customers are already heading straight for the door. The fucked up ones are brave souls in this godforsaken merciless land. The bartender is in the front trench for an atomic bomb. He serves them two Russian Screwdrivers with a sigh and prayed for his life. Daryl just nodded at the poor man and began drinking from his own cup.  
  
“Well, to be honest,” the hunter finally answers with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m more into the defiant types. Makes things more interesting. But I can do with a quiet girl too.”  
  
Drunk Rick tilts his head. “You can do or you can _do it,_ Daryl? Personally, I never found the appeal of doing it with a quiet girl. They make it seem like they’re not enjoying it. Maybe they aren’t, but since I’m the one doing it that’s very unlikely.”  
  
Figures Rick would bring the conversation straight into the gutter. Feeling the need to change the topic before everything turned into one awkward sex talk, Daryl decided to talk about their _other_ “drinking buddy”.  
  
“Uh so,” Daryl began, scratching the back of his head. “What makes you interested in our friend here? It’s obviously just a cup, man.”  
  
Rick then smashed the table angrily with his fists, making Daryl jump a little. “Why that’s just rude! It has every bit of a personality like any other person! In fact, I think it’s similar to you. You guys would get along just perfectly. More so than you and I will ever hope to be!”  
  
At this point in time, Daryl is now feeling offended. Did Rick say that _he’s_ like a cup? He wanted to stab the other man in the face with one of his arrows, but hard pressed to do so as this is drunk Rick that he is dealing with, and drunk Rick may be as unpredictable as his alter ego. Gritting his teeth, Daryl just asked for another drink. Two can play this fucking game.

And somehow, now at 2 A.M., Daryl now ended up downing five. And they were _still_ not finished with the argument.  
  
“Well, I think you’re just like a walker,” Daryl counters for the nth time, feeling his mouth going numb.  
  
That didn’t come out all too intelligently, as Rick tilts his head again, eyes more unfocused than ever. “Please, Daryl. You can do better than that.”  
  
Daryl narrows his eyes. “A printer, then.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“A printer. You always give out stuff to people when they want it but don’t really need it, but in emergencies you magically stop working. When you don’t get used for a while, you magically stop working. And when I finally get to kick your ass, you’ll probably magically stop working too. You’re always a pain in the ass to deal with when you don’t work. But you’re easy to replace, so it don’t really matter.”  
  
Drunk Rick widened his eyes, looking impressed. “Wow Daryl, I’m impressed you were able to think up something so abstract.”

Daryl nods, finishing his drink, and Rick really did look impressed with his widened eyes. On second thought, he just looked like a drunkard who’s trying to read something on the wall.

“I’m thinking I’m more like a printer scanner fax machine all in one though,” Rick continues. “When one part of me stops working, you still need me for something else.”  
  
Daryl smirked. “Fair enough. Then best tell me why I’m like a cup.”

“I was waiting for you to ask! For starters, you’re all hard on the outside but so empty in the inside.”  
  
_Ouch_. Daryl doesn’t think he’s empty in the inside.  
  
“When you’re filled with something, I can’t really tell what it is from looking at the glass. It could be hot, in which case it’s probably nothing something I want to drink from a glass since it’ll burn me. But when it’s cold, like right now, it’s probably filled with something delicious.”  
  
Daryl stands up. “What the fuck are you ta-”

Now at this point Daryl was conveniently cut off as the sheriff deputy strategically planted his lips over the hunter’s. And before he can protest, a tongue was shoveled into the roof of his mouth skillfully.

Daryl swore he could taste Strawberry Daiquiri, sweet and tooth rotting just the way he likes it. The alcohol must be getting to his head because he’s enjoying making out with Rick very, _very_ much. There are just so many degrees of wrong in that thought that he would rather focus on licking the other man’s molars right now. Somewhere down the next twenty minutes he vaguely feels a pair of hands going up his shirt. And if this isn’t goddamned hot Daryl wouldn’t know what else it’ll be.

“So Daryl,” Rick whispers seductively in his ear. “Do you want to come to my place? I’ll let you know what else I _like_ about cups.”

 

* * *

 

 **EPILOGUE**  
  
Daryl would forever regret not noticing the “Bottomless Alcohol” sign over the bar window that night. Rick, on the other hand, grew strangely resentful towards printers for weeks to come.

Neither of them could remember how they ended up in the same bed the next morning, although Rick’s sore back gave him pretty good ideas on what might have happened.

The poor bartender was too fearful for his life so he left Alexandria shortly after, and was never heard of again.

Thus the great philosophical conversations between Rick and Daryl would forever be a missing chapter in the post-apocalyptic history book in which no one would ever know.

With the exception of the cup, of course.

 

**THE END :D**

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment below. Happy Holidays guys! <3 *hides off somewhere


End file.
